


Seven Weddings

by stereolightning (phalaenopsis)



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Gen, Snogging, Weddings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-07
Updated: 2013-08-07
Packaged: 2017-12-22 16:33:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 11,665
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/915476
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/phalaenopsis/pseuds/stereolightning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Seven weddings. Seven conversations between friends, siblings, lovers, and almost-lovers. Written in the "La Ronde" style.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. That Awful Boy (Severus and Lily)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a seven-part story in the style of the play "La Ronde"; each new chapter follows a character from the preceding chapter. ("La Ronde" is also an improv comedy format, and is the format of the Linklater movie "Slacker." It's called La Ronde because by the end, it circles back to the beginning. Round!)

The Dursley Wedding

* * *

It rained all the way from Spinner's End.

Severus tapped the brass knocker on the navy blue door and wiped his muddy boots on the mat.

Lily opened the door.

"Oh, Sev, you are _not_ wearing _that_ ," she said in a breathy huff.

She looked radiant, as ever. Her fiery hair had grown back since that unfortunate haircut last year, and her freckles had faded over the long winter. It was spring now – April - and soon she would wear her short summer skirts and transparent cotton blouses again, an annual torment for him. Still, he looked forward to summers, if only because during them, he often had Lily's undivided attention.

"What. Why not. I washed them," he said flatly.

Severus felt, as he often did, that some heavenly finger was perpetually pointing to this girl, saying, _look_ , here she _is_ , this girl is _important_ , pay _attention_. So he kept looking at her.

"Come in. And take your boots off; Mum's just had the carpets cleaned," she said.

He stepped over the threshold and into the chintzy sitting room, awash in familiar scents: furniture polish. Girls' perfume. Cooked potatoes. Lily's house. More a home than his own, though less home to him than Hogwarts.

He untied his boots and set them by the door. He could feel her eyes on him. Appraising. He glanced over at her socked feet. For once, her socks matched – white, with little strips of lace at the cuffs. She was rolling up and down on the balls of her feet, pointing and flexing, like a backstage ballerina.

"I might have known you'd pull something like this," she said.

"You said to look smart. This _is_ smart."

"Maybe for wizards, Sev. Not for Tuney's effing wedding. You can't wear school robes for this."

"I'm not exactly acquainted with the sartorial particulars of Muggle weddings, Lily. I'm not taking Muggle Studies."

She silenced him by resting her hand on his shoulder for a moment. Lightly.

"Alright," she sighed. "Alright. We revert to the original plan."

He raised an eyebrow. "Which is?"

"My Dad's old suit and a shrinking charm."

He frowned. "You're underage, Lil."

"I'm aware."

"And we're outside school."

"True."

"And we're not allowed to use magic."

He blinked at her. She blinked back, an opaque answer to an unspoken inquiry.

"You've already done it," he concluded, sighing.

"I have."

He opened his mouth to protest. She shot him a verdant stare, green eyes electric with conviction. He backtracked, tried to change it into a yawn mid-way through, which he realized was ridiculous, so he turned his face away from her, toward the window.

"Rainy," she said, following his gaze.

Grey drops slid along the windowpanes, pooling and parting in staccato rhythm.

"Supposed to be good luck at a wedding. Rain," she said.

He had no salient comment about luck or weddings or Petunia, at least none civil enough for this sitting room, when no doubt the bride was in an adjacent room, so he said nothing.

"Buck up, Sev. It's only one night of your life," she said. "Have you eaten?"

"M'fine."

"There's leftover trifle, half-decent. And Vernon's family have sent a horrible fruitcake, if you'd rather scowl at food than eat it."

"M'fine, Lil," he said again, and he _wasn't_ fine. This - whatever it was, it wasn't a date, she had said they were going as friends – was not going well at all. She had _known_ he would disappoint her.

"Come up, then. Want to see if I guessed right."

He followed her up the carpeted stairs and through the hallway decorated with family photos. A dozen baby Lilies, toddler Lilies, adolescent Lilies, all with bright red hair, smiling in their frames. Not moving. Muggle photos. Petunia was in most of them, too. He would've liked to rip that half off and keep just the Lilies.

He always felt a prickle of anticipation when she allowed him in her bedroom. Her bubblegum pink sanctuary, with its shag carpet and girly debris – pots of rouge, plush rabbits with button eyes, rock and roll posters. Vivid, like her. As he crossed the threshold, he sucked in a breath and held it. She did not close the door.

She unhooked a garment bag from the closet rod and pressed it into his arms. Well, at least she had planned ahead. Forethought suggested anticipation.

Her eyes searched his face. She reached forward and brushed a strand of his hair out of his eyes.

"You're still a bit damp," she said, wincing. "You should have telephoned. I'd have gotten Dad to pick you up in the car. You wouldn't have had to walk in the rain."

"Too late now," he said.

"Hmm. Perhaps not," she said, tapping her finger on her mouth thoughtfully. "Sit down," she said, indicating the yellow plastic chair by her vanity.

"What're you-"

"Sit," she commanded, taking the garment bag back from him and spreading it out on the bed. He obliged her. His legs were too long for the tiny chair. He scooted forward, leaning more than sitting.

She opened a drawer in the vanity and took out a hairdryer. _Oh, hell._ He knew what was coming now. As she plugged it into the wall, she leaned across him, and her chest came within millimeters of his face.

Next moment, she was blasting hot air at his head. He closed his eyes.

In many ways, he reflected, Lily was more maternal than his own mother. She was often doing these motherly things - cajoling sweets into him, asking him about his father, prodding him about something or other. Blowdrying his hair.

She fussed with his hair a bit more and his scalp thrilled at the contact. She screwed up her face, appraising again. He sat waiting for her judgment.

"Better," she concluded, flipping the switch, and the hairdryer whined metallically. "Now you can change. I'll give you some privacy."

"What? In here?" he asked.

"Tuney's commandeered the bathroom," she said.

"Lily," he whinged.

"I'll just be outside," she said, disappearing behind the door.

How ironic. He was finally in his pants. In her bedroom. And she _wasn't_ in it. Lily's ugly grey cat sat on the bed, regarding him and flicking her pointed tail.

Lily had guessed well. The suit did not fit especially well in the shoulders, but it was long enough, and after tutting over him for a few minutes, she deemed him passable.

She ushered him outside and changed into her frilly bridemaid's dress. Salmon-pink – a horrible color under any circumstances.

"Murder me," she said, opening the door again with a defeated grimace.

It really was an awful dress.

He could not help smirking at her.

* * *

The wedding guests were atrocious, the worst sort of Muggles, in Severus' opinion. Particularly on the Dursley side of the aisle. During the exchange of vows, a large, mustached woman with an ugly pair of dogs in her lap kept sobbing melodramatically.

Lily squeezed his hand to keep from laughing, though her body shook with silent giggles anyway.

At the reception, Petunia's seating arrangement put them as far as possible from the bride and groom, which suited Severus fine. He liked drinking with Lily in the corner, so he drank - horrible blue punch, champagne, and a sip of some lurid pink cocktail with an umbrella that Lily foisted on him. As ever, liquor did not discompose him whatsoever.

He rested his chin in one hand, elbow on the table, and toyed lazily with Lily's tropical drink.

"Wish I'd brought a book. Could be studying for OWLs right now," he said.

"Spoilsport," she said.

"Sporting," he said, "is not in it. This is unadulterated misery."

"There's drinks, though," she said.

"Awful Muggle drinks."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He backtracked again. "Nothing. Whatever."

"Pretentious git," she muttered, kicking him under the table. And then, when he did not react, "Wino."

"Am not."

"You liked that elf-made wine at Slughorn's party."

"So did you. Lush." The words were out of his mouth before he could stop them.

Unexpectedly, she grinned. He was baffled; did she like being insulted? Confused, he hid his face in another long sip of the horrible, menthol-tasting blue punch.

She kicked him in the shins again.

"Come dance with me, you prat," she said.

"Lily, no, please."

"Sev. One effing dance. That's all I'm asking."

Her eyes were narrowed, but also pleading.

"Right," he said finally.

She pulled him by the hand, and he felt as though he were walking to the gallows. For whatever reason – their youth, the fact that they were of normal size, or maybe their intangible wizardishness – the pair of them drew curious looks from the other guests as they cut across the room.

The mustached woman glared at him while her ugly dogs slurped brandy out of her glass.

"At least we won't be the _worst_ dancers here. Look at that pair of trolls over there," she said, nodding her head at still more of Vernon Dursley's portly relations, who waltzed like drunken elephants.

Lily put one hand on his shoulder and threaded the fingers of her other hand through his. Heart racing, he put a hand on her hip, and she launched into a box step.

He was a terrible dancer, but she wasn't much better. They kept bumping awkwardly into each other. But she had verve, and he had resolve, and after a minute, they found an acceptable rhythm.

Her proximity was intoxicating, and he kept flicking his eyes up to her face, wondering what she was thinking. She was so beautiful it hurt, even in that atrocious pink dress. The flowers in her hair. The quickened pulse flashing at her neck. Her freckles like stars guiding his wandering ship home.

"Thanks for coming," she said, breathing into his ear. "You're an alright date sometimes."

Then, without warning, she leaned in and planted a quick, dry kiss on his cheek. He felt his face burn, as if in kissing him she had sealed an unbreakable vow.

As she released his shoulder and twirled beneath his arm, he thought, _I could die. I could die happy right now_.

* * *


	2. A Snog and a Boggart (Lily and James)

The Longbottom Wedding

* * *

"Oh _hell_ , Lily, that feels amazing."

"Really? Sure you don't want me to stop?" Lily asked cheekily, breathing into his face.

"NO! No. Merlin. You're a sadist," said James.

"I've been called worse," she said.

"Merlin. Hell. FUCK."

He panted into her hair and grasped desperately at the bodice of her dress. After a moment, he yelled, went still, and then laughed, muffling the sound with his sleeve.

In the low light of this dusty broom closet, she could see just enough to know that they were both glowing, sweating. Happy.

She kissed him on the nose.

"We should probably get back," she said. "I'm sure they've cut the cake by now."

"Let's. I'm suddenly ravenous," he agreed with a growl. " _Lumos_."

It was hour number four of the Longbottom wedding, and Lily and James had hidden in a broom closet to snog and blow off steam. Lily felt the tiniest bit guilty; she did love Alice and Frank very much, but then again, they were also hosting the longest and stuffiest wedding she'd ever been to, including Petunia's. Lily was fairly certain that their parents were more to blame than Alice and Frank themselves, who were so absurdly nice that they'd probably been steamrolled, but nonetheless it had been very dull and _very_ formal.

James yawned and refastened his belt.

"How bad is my hair?" Lily asked.

He grinned. "Awful," he said, clearly pleased with his work.

"Prat."

"Minx."

"Fix it for me, then," she said, jabbing him in the stomach with her finger.

With surprising tenderness, he smoothed down her hair with both hands and readjusted the flower she had stuck behind her ear. He took out her hair pins, held them in his mouth while he swept up her hair, and then refastened the pins deftly.

Lily was a little taken aback. But pleased, too. There was clearly more to her new boyfriend than wild snogging and midnight broomstick rides. She liked that idea very much.

She was about to tell him so when she heard a loud, inhuman scuffling outside the door. She locked eyes with James. She wondered if they'd been foolish, prowling alone in dark rooms of an unfamiliar house when every day there were reports of deaths and disappearances. Then again, whatever it was, it sounded like there was only one of it.

"Come on," he said, holding his lit wand aloft and turning the doorknob with his other hand. "Wand out, love."

She followed him into the dark spare room, which was full of dust-covered antiques – a victrola. A collection of chamberpots. A rusty old bed frame. The scuffling was coming from within the largest and most ornate grandfather clock Lily had ever seen.

"Boggart, do you reckon?" Lily asked.

"I think you're right," James said.

"Should we tell someone there's a boggart up here?" she asked.

"Or we could have a go at it ourselves," he said, sounding more like his eighteen years now.

"I suppose," she said apprehensively.

"Should be fun. I adore the Longbottoms, but this has been the most boring night of my life. Excepting that very nice twenty minutes in the closet just now," he said.

Lily weighed this. She didn't think boredom was a compelling argument, but she did think that two fully grown wizards could handle a boggart, and anyway, it would be a nice wedding present, in a way, getting rid of a household pest. She nodded.

"Alright," she said. "I'll go first, shall I? Then you confuse it."

"Go for it. I'll cover you," he said.

Lily grinned. She was pleased that she and James worked well together in non-romantic situations, too. He was earning her trust day-by-day. She wanted to kiss him. But she was also curious what high-flying, daredevil James Potter was afraid of. Losing the Quidditch cup, perhaps?

Lily stepped forward and pulled open the lower door of the clock just a crack. A pale hand appeared, wrapping its fingers around the edge of the door.

Then Lily's mother stepped out of the clock, gasped once, and died.

Her lifeless body lay prone on the hardwood floor.

Lily's heart stopped.

For a moment she forgot she was facing a boggart. At school, when they covered boggarts for their OWLs, her boggart had been a vampire, and she already had a funny idea about how to make a vampire look ridiculous. But apparently her worst fear had changed in the intervening years, and she had no idea how to deal with this new one.

"Riddikulus," she said weakly.

CRACK!

The body was James' instead. Wandless, helpless, open-mouthed. She let out a dry sob.

"Riddikulus!"

Petunia. Dead.

CRACK!

Alice, still in her wedding dress, a trail of blood issuing from the side of her mouth, dead.

James stepped forward, overtaking her. The boggart shifted and became-

CRACK!

Remus Lupin. Quite alive. Though his expression was most un-Remus-ish. He looked cold, cunning, and as he rolled up his sleeve, Lily saw the Dark Mark on it.

So this was what James feared. His friends betraying one another, going over to Voldemort. The thing he truly could not bear thinking about. She stepped forward to help, to confuse the boggart, pushing his hand away and trying desperately to think something funny, something _funny_ -

CRACK!

Now it was Peter, dead. Slack-jawed, still, his childlike features wiped blank. The Dark Mark burned into his arm. The boggart, confused, was trying to scare both of them at once.

CRACK!

It was Severus Snape.

Also dead, also bearing the Dark Mark. His neck torn open, leaking blood from a raw wound like a bite from some unspeakable animal.

Lily felt her knees buckle, both from the shock of seeing Severus at all and the realization that she still cared enough about him to fear his death. She lost her footing and fell onto the floor beside him.

He looked so young and small in death. More like the awkward boy she had met at nine years old than the angry young man she had last seen at school. His black eyes stared at the ceiling, empty and unknowing.

Something made a strangled, wet sound, and a moment later, Lily realized the sound had come from her own throat.

"Lily," said James, who seemed to have forgotten about the boggart, focused on her instead. He knelt beside her. "Lily?"

CRACK!

Severus disappeared, and in his place, a golden sphinx reared on its hind legs, beating its huge wings, kneading its terrible claws.

Lily looked up at the imposing figure of Augusta Longbottom, wand extended, in her long green dress robes. Lily had not seen her enter the room.

The sphinx narrowed its great, cat-like eyes and addressed Augusta.

"What takes reason and speech, but not time?" it riddled coolly.

Augusta stared at the beast for a moment, her expression steely, and then shouted "Riddikulus!"

At once, the sphinx transformed into a wobbly-legged kitten in an oversized top hat, mewled once, and then disappeared as Augusta laughed elegantly through her long nose.

Augusta stowed her wand beneath her robes.

"Thank you," Lily croaked.

"Quite alright, dear," the elder woman said, extending a regal hand to help Lily to her feet. "Boggarts are very fond of this old house. We get them several times a year."

Lily was not sure which was worse - getting caught snogging in a broom closet by the groom's mother, or revealing to James what she feared most. She was torn between mortification and grief.

"Congratulations again," said James, a little breathlessly. "You must be very proud. Of Frank. And Alice."

"Yes. I expect she'll keep him on his toes," said Augusta primly. "Well, I must be off."

She turned toward the door.

"By the way, Potter," she began, looking over her shoulder at him.

"Ma'am?"

"You might want to use a _Silencing_ charm next time you abscond to a spare room with your girlfriend. I could hear you all the way up in the fourth floor bathroom."

Augusta shut the door behind her. James blushed scarlet.

Lily threw her arms around him and hugged him so tight she thought she might have squeezed all the air out of him.

"It's alright," he whispered into her ear. "It was just a boggart."

"Yeah. I know," she sniffed.

"They're fine. They're all fine. And they love us. Well, maybe not Sniv - er, Severus. He definitely hates my guts," he said.

Lily registered that James had stopped himself saying '"Snivellus," and that he had probably done so because he realized the depth of her concern for her former friend. She shook her head. She did not want this. She did not want to give a damn about Severus, or to have James tiptoe around it for her sake. It was over. He was lost. Irretrievable.

"Don't apologize for him. You know what he is now," she said. "The boggart got one thing right."

James sighed.

"Hell, Lily. I'm really sorry," he said.

"Why are _you_ sorry?" she asked.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked.

"Sorry, no," she said.

"What I fear most. Losing my friends that way. It's already happened to you," he said.

"Oh. S'pose it has," she muttered distantly. She had not thought of that.

"Anyway," he said, kissing her firmly on the forehead, "Let's have some cake. You look like a witch in desperate need of cake. And icing. And little fondant flowers, or sugared violets, or whatever fussy little decorations they've got."

He smiled, smoothed down her hair again, and led her toward the bright lights and clinking forks of the wedding feast.

Lily realized, at that moment, that she loved James Potter very, _very_ much. And that she never, ever wanted to see him sprawled dead on the floor like that, ever again. Even if it meant letting someone else deal with stray boggarts from now on.

* * *


	3. The Wolf at the Door (James and Remus)

The Potter Wedding

* * *

"Get out of here," said James, ungluing his lips from Lily's and shooing her toward the door. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding."

They were in bed. It was Saturday. December. A light snow was falling outside.

"I'm pretty sure it's only bad luck to see the _dress,_ " she replied. "And in case you were wondering, the answer is _no_ , I am _not_ getting married in your holey Wimbourne Wasps t-shirt. Comfortable though it is." She raised her arms and sniffed at the sleeve of the t-shirt she had borrowed from him. "Ah. Still smells like you," she sighed, winking at him.

"Then get back here and kiss me again," he said, pulling her by the arms and tickling her as she pretended to struggle, both of them shrieking and whining and laughing.

A polite knock told them someone was at the door.

"If that's Voldemort, tell him to sod off. I've had enough of him for one week," said Lily, diving under the blanket to get at James' feet, which she knew to be especially ticklish.

"Come in, Moony," said James, who would recognize that particular knock anywhere.

"I'm only half-dressed, Remus," called Lily from under the blanket. "Please don't take offense."

"I swear not to," said Remus Lupin, entering the bedroom and suppressing a smirk.

Lily popped her head out from under the blanket at the foot of the bed. "You look smart," she said to Remus, looking at him upside down.

"And you," replied Lupin, "are radiant. But very late."

James glanced at the clock.

"Hell, it's half-ten. Lil, you should go," said James. "Take some aspirin, will you. Or some of that potion Moody tried to confiscate."

"Told you, don't need it," she said.

As she stood up, wearing only his t-shirt and boxer shorts, James could see the purple and yellow bruise that extended all the way down her right leg.

"What's happened to you?" asked Remus, sucking in a short, surprised breath.

"I'm fine," she said. "Run-in with some you-know-whats," she explained to Remus over her shoulder and she searched under the bed for her jeans, her arse in the air.

"She won't let anybody heal it," said James, with a look of supplication at Remus.

"Because I've got it under control," she said, standing up and putting on her yellow jumper. "I have a very high pain tolerance. And anyway, no one's going to see _this_ under my dress."

James groaned. "Please, Lily. I'm begging you. Floo Madam Pomfrey at the very least. Back me up, Moony," he said.

Remus knit his brows. "Lily," he said gently. "It does look awful."

She sighed. "Alright. Alright. I'll call her. But only because two very handsome young men are asking me nicely."

She kissed James goodbye and patted Remus on the arm.

James watched her leave, and marveled again that this girl, this beautiful girl he'd fancied since he was a boy, was marrying him today. He'd asked her on Thursday. To his utter surprise and delight, she had replied that, yes, she would, and as there was no time to waste, they should go ahead with it now. This week. Saturday.

"Where's Padfoot?" asked James.

"He's fetching Dumbledore," said Remus, settling in an armchair. He looked tired. Smartly dressed, for once, but tired. James suspected that Sirius had lent him some dress robes.

"Right," said James.

"Congratulations again. On marrying the brightest witch in our year."

"Ta," said James, _Summoning_ toast and marmalade from the kitchen and offering it to Remus.

"I wish you both every happiness," said Remus.

"Alright, she's got to be out of earshot by now. Where is Padfoot really?"

"Your future wife," said Lupin, delicately spreading jam on his toast with a butter knife, "asked for a band. With two days' notice. I expect Sirius is running round London right now, trying to _Confund_ Freddie Mercury for her."

James sniggered.

"She told me unequivocally that 'James Potter may not play any of his damned Ravi Shankar albums at this wedding.' Sirius quite agrees with her. But you know them. They have very specific taste in music. Sirius told me off for suggesting a jazz band," said Remus.

James grinned at him, and then said, "You think we're nutters. Don't you? Getting married in the middle of a war. Being engaged for three days."

"On the contrary. I think you're both very brave."

"That's a cryptic answer," said James, his mouth full of toast. He swallowed. "Well, would you, if you were me? Get married right now?"

"I cannot answer that. We both know that I am not you."

James quirked an eyebrow at Remus and took another bite of toast, considering him. The werewolf. The good boy. The voice of reason, although it was usually a quiet voice.

"Mark my words," said James. "Someday some mad girl will sweep you off your feet. And I wish you joy of her."

Remus looked away, out the window, shaking his head. "This is very good jam," he said.

* * *

The wedding and reception were small, cozy, and a little bit haphazard, having been thrown together in three days.

"My prank backfired," said James, leaning against a pillar as Remus approached him with drinks in hand. "I told her it's Potter family tradition for the bride to give the best man whatever he wants."

"And what he wanted, apparently, was to dance like a maniac with her for forty minutes," said Remus, handing him a tumbler of firewhiskey.

"Yep. I thought he'd make her do something funny," said James.

"She is a bit rubbish at dancing. That's almost funny," offered Remus.

"Yeah, but she's so bloody beautiful, it doesn't really matter, does it?"

"No, I suppose not."

They watched Sirius, elegant as always, twirl Lily around, launch her into the air, and catch her. She was laughing, ecstatic, glowing. Barefoot, but still wearing her long white dress. Her red hair flying like the tail of a comet.

"Showoff," muttered James good-naturedly.

Remus snickered. "I think Padfoot's having a little fun at your expense, Prongs."

"You may be right. But at least she's up and about. I was sure her leg was bothering her."

"She seems perfectly alright now."

"Yeah. Wonder what Pomfrey gave her." James turned to Remus, who was taking a long, slow sip of his drink. "How are you?"

"Oh. I'm alright," said Remus evasively.

"No you're not," said James in a low voice. He tapped the rim of his glass thoughtfully with one finger. "You know I'll figure it out eventually, whatever it is."

"You always do."

"Can't be your furry little problem. It's new moon."

Remus gave him a sad, wincing smile. "I don't want to ruin your day. I'll tell you later. Promise."

James considered this. He could probably wheedle whatever it was out of Remus. But the man was clearly at pains not to divulge, or at least to delay divulging, something. James settled for an affectionate nudge to the shoulder and said, "At the stroke of midnight. You're telling me."

"Alright. I'll accept those terms. Ah, the prodigal bride returns," said Remus, brightening as Lily and Sirius bounded up to them, sweaty and breathless.

James marveled again and how especially pretty Lily looked. As if lit from within. She wrapped her arms around him, and she smelled intoxicating, like flowers and cake and sweet sweat and something else he couldn't place. She pulled back an inch and kissed him, hard, for a full minute.

Remus chuckled softly.

"You want a kiss too, Moony?" asked Sirius, smiling wickedly.

Remus shook his head, suppressing a grin.

"You could have one, if you want. The bride has to do whatever I say. It's Potter family tradition," said Sirius, winking at James. "Very old custom. Goes back to the middle ages."

"You three," said Lily, "Are incorrigible. Peter's the only person who's been remotely polite to me today."

"Only because he fears your wrath," said Sirius. "Where is he, anyway?"

"Dunno," said James.

"Think I'll go and find him," said Sirius.

"Before you do," said Remus, catching Sirius by the arm, "I thought we might take a photo. For posterity."

"You brought a camera?" asked Lily brightly. "Oh, you're a peach. I completely forgot."

"It would be a sin not to capture this image," said Remus. "The three of you. Happy."

Remus _Summoned_ his camera and directed them into frame, waving his hand at them, his face obscured by the lens and flashbulb. Remus and Sirius bantered animatedly at each other, and James was pleased to see that Remus had perked up.

"Muffliato," said Lily, and James could tell she had cast the spell so that only they two could hear. He wanted to ask her why, but she spoke first. "Something to tell you," she said, barely moving her lips, speaking out of the side of her mouth.

"About Remus? He's been acting a little– "

"No. Not about Remus. Just you and me. And – the – well, I should just have done with it. Remember that night in Cornwall?"

"Vividly," he said, remembering both the panic and pleasure of that episode.

"Yeah. I'm pregnant."

James felt his pulse rise, his breath stolen.

"That's why I kept telling you not to try healing me. Wasn't sure about side effects. Madam Pomfrey's sorted me out, though. Are you okay?" she asked.

He goggled at her. "Are you kidding? I'm ecstatic."

"Are you?" She sounded almost like she might cry, though she was maintaining a smile for the camera, which Remus was still fiddling with. He gripped her hand tightly, willing his joy and confidence into her through the pressure of his hand.

"Yes. Yes, I really am." He was grinning like an idiot now, he knew it.

"Alright. Details later. Couldn't hold it in another minute, though," she said.

She cast the counterjinx nonverbally and resumed moving around under Remus' direction. Sirius pushed in between them, grinning at them and clapping them both on the back.

James lost himself in thought. On Wednesday, he'd been a bachelor. On Saturday, he was a married man expecting a baby. How swiftly things change.

Lily kept stealing glances at him behind Sirius' head, but she was smiling broadly and authentically, her face alight with happiness.

Remus cracked a joke, and Sirius laughed, and the flash popped before James had registered the punch line, so lost was he in thought, in plans, in hopes.

How swiftly things change. Miracles, tragedies, lovers, friends. How swiftly they could change at any moment.

* * *


	4. Truths and Consequences (Remus and Harry)

The Weasley Wedding

* * *

Remus watched Harry, who was leaning against a pillar and looking wistfully at Ginny Weasley. Ginny was dancing with Lee Jordan. Harry looked pensive, worried, but determined – classically Harry, in other words – even though he was disguised as chubby, curly-haired Barney Weasley for the day. Harry must have so much on his mind, Remus thought. The prophecy. The Order. Whatever Dumbledore had asked him to do.

But Harry also looked like a boy watching the girl he loved dance with someone else.

Remus smiled privately into his glass of oak-matured mead. Harry, like James, had a penchant for effervescent redheads. He remembered an image uncannily like this from the Potter wedding: James watching Lily dance with Sirius. Lily laughing and swinging her arms to the music. However, Ginny was a much better dancer than Lily. Maybe from all the Quidditch practice. She was twirling under Lee Jordan's arm with panache.

But Harry had let Ginny go. Broken up. Remus knew this by way of Dora, who kept abreast of Harry's love life better than Remus himself. Dora was young and had a young person's fascination with romantic goings-on and gossip.

Remus sighed.

He sympathized with Harry, and he understood exactly why Harry had let Ginny go. Harry would be putting Ginny in a vulnerable position by loving her publicly. Just as he, Remus, had put Dora in a terrible position by marrying her.

And then there was the problem of the baby. The one Dora was carrying. His child.

Remus had not quite wrapped his head around that yet. Dora had only told him last night, while she was trying on her wedding outfit and auditioning hair colors to match – green, purple, red, settling finally on blonde. She had given the news so casually, so cheerfully, looking at him through his reflection in the bedroom mirror as she changed, her hair halfway between purple and red. Her tone had been light, as if she were simply telling him a funny story from work, or commenting on his cooking. She didn't seem to realize what she was saying, what this meant. She was far too optimistic.

This had always been the bone of contention between them. She saw his condition as a minor impediment, an occasional illness. But Remus knew better. The pain, the injuries – those he could deal with, had dealt with nearly all his life. It was the way he was regarded by the rest of the wizarding community that was the real problem. That, and now the new, violent fear that he might unwittingly harm Dora or the child someday. He had so far avoided this issue by living alone. But now she was living with him, and that invited danger. Danger he'd had a taste of before.

Remus still remembered the night at the end of his year teaching at Hogwarts, when he had been loose on the grounds, having forgotten to take the wolfsbane potion. That must never happen again. That must never be allowed to happen. He could not subject an innocent woman and child to a fully transformed werewolf. He could not expect Dora to protect herself against a true werewolf, and maybe – the thought just now occurred to him – _two_ werewolves. Yes, Dora was tough, an Auror, but she was also _young_. She was just a few years older than some of the students he had taught at Hogwarts. Moreover, she was not infallible; she made mistakes. Every time she tripped over the furniture or dropped a dish while washing up, Remus was reminded of how vulnerable she was.

Still. She had such a good heart. Her compassion rivaled only Lily's and Harry's. But even that was like a festering canker in his heart. She _was_ so good. She deserved better. She could have anybody, _anybody_ she wanted. He had been selfish, stupid, unthinking in marrying her.

It was as though, upon finding the most rare and beautiful bird in paradise, he had clipped her wings and caged her in an attic.

He did not know what to do. He took another sip of his drink and wondered what Dumbledore would have said.

But Dumbledore was gone, and now Remus would never know. Gone, like Lily and James and Sirius before him. Almost everyone Remus had ever loved was gone. The only ones left were Dora and Harry, and he could do very little for either of them. Though perhaps marginally more for Harry.

Remus scanned the crowd and saw Dora talking to Molly Weasley at a table across the room. They both looked radiant, Molly having just married off her eldest son, and Dora already emitting a first-trimester glow.

His insides churned.

He looked away, into the throng of people at the edge of the tent. There were Bill and Fleur, incandescently happy, humoring some of Bill's elderly relatives who seemed to be telling a lengthy, boring anecdote about the banning of magic carpets in Britain. Behind them, some musicians from the wedding band were taking a break between sets to smoke their pipes and play exploding snap.

Harry had moved from his pillar, avoiding a drunken Weasley cousin, and Remus rose from the table and followed him.

He caught up with Harry by the refreshment table and thrust a butterbeer into his hand.

"Still fond of these, Harry?" asked Remus.

"Thanks. Yeah, I am," said Harry, with a polite smile.

Harry's eyes were blue at the moment, disguised, but Remus detected something of Lily's green ones behind them nonetheless.

He was very like both of them. Lily and James. Perhaps not as nosy as James. He definitely had Lily's kindness. James' optimism. And somehow, although raised by what sounded like truly awful relatives, Harry had turned out beautifully. Brave. Compassionate. Lily and James would have liked to know that. They would have liked to know that their son was everything they could have wished.

"You know Harry, I have been in remiss," said Remus. "I have meant to tell you this for a very long time. I'm sure you wondered why I never tried to make contact with you before I came to teach at Hogwarts. The reason – well, there are several reasons – but chief among them is that I knew I would not be doing you any favors by contacting you. You know my position. You know how other wizards view me. The Ministry is especially anti-werewolf at the moment, but it wasn't much better when you were a child. I felt that, by turning up on your doorstep, I would only be harming you, satisfying my own selfish curiosity about you. I hope you can understand that, and forgive me."

Harry tilted his head slightly, considering this. Finally he said, "I would have liked to know you."

Remus was not quite sure if he felt better or worse at Harry's answer. But he nodded anyway.

"I did know you, a little, when you were a baby," said Remus. "You were very well-behaved. Sirius used to tease James about it. He said you clearly hadn't inherited James' talent for trouble. But I daresay you've proved him wrong since then."

Harry snorted softly, and then sighed. "What were they like?" he asked.

Remus' heart ached for Harry. How could he compress a lifetime of memories, of personality quirks, of funny stories and quiet observations into a few sentences over drinks? How could he, Remus, possibly convey this much information in so insufficient a time and place as this? But he would try. He would have to try, for Harry's sake. He cleared his throat.

"Funny. Bright. Incredibly brave. Boundlessly good," said Remus.

He could not say more just yet; he thought he might choke on the words. But Harry seemed pleased by what little Remus had managed to say. One corner of Harry's mouth was hitched up in a smile.

"Congratulations again. On marrying Tonks," said Harry.

Remus involuntarily squeezed his glass of mead. The condensation dripped down his wrist, a cool trickle in the summer heat.

"Thank you, Harry," he said softly, looking away.

"She's great," said Harry. "I've always liked her."

"You like almost everyone," said Remus, smiling despite himself.

"No I don't," said Harry. "There's loads of people I dislike."

"Ah, but they'd never know it. You're so kind to everyone. You may think you're not. But you are. Another thing you have in common with your mother," said Remus.

Now Harry looked away.

Remus wanted to ask Harry what he was planning, where he would go next, but he was certain that Harry would not be foolish enough to discuss his plans in the open.

Instead, he said, "Happy seventeenth. I hope it will be a good year for you. Did you get a watch?"

"Yes. Mrs. Weasley gave me one. She said it was Fabian Prewitt's," said Harry.

Remus nodded. "You would have liked Fabian. I'm glad you've got his watch."

Remus sensed someone bright and feminine at the edge of his peripheral vision.

"Wotcher, Harry," said Tonks, appearing behind them, beaming.

"Hello again," said Harry.

"Having a nice time?" asked Tonks. "It's a very good wedding, isn't it? Just the right size. Classy, but not too fancy. Molly planned extremely well. I was just telling her."

"Yeah, it is," said Harry. "But I've never been to a wedding before, so I can't really compare."

"I'm sure you'll attend many more Weasley weddings, though, with six more siblings to go," said Remus. "You'll be an expert in no time."

Harry's face went dark. "I dunno," he said. "Maybe."

"Trust me," said Remus. "Molly will insist."

The three of them stood in silence for a moment, sipping their drinks (Dora was drinking pumpkin juice) and absorbing the pastoral beauty of the Burrow in July. A large yellow butterfly wandered into the tent and fluttered above them for a few seconds before darting away.

Then the drunken Weasley cousin caught up with them and Harry scooted away, waving to Remus and Dora as he disappeared into the crowd.

Dumbledore's words came back to Remus. _"Harry is the best hope we have."_

Remus agreed.

* * *


	5. Marigolds and Snorkacks (Harry and Luna)

The Granger-Weasley Wedding

* * *

Ron and Hermione's wedding, like their first desperate kiss outside the Room of Requirement, was long overdue. This was largely because Hermione had refused to marry at all until equal marriage rights were granted to house elves, werewolves, and all magical creatures. Fortunately, she was now in a position to push that legislation through herself.

Their wedding took place at the Burrow on an August afternoon, under a tent, like most of the other Weasley weddings. Harry had, in fact, become an expert on them.

Harry waited by the altar with Ron, who was vacillating between euphoric smiles and panicked glances down the aisle. Harry was amused that Ron still doubted Hermione's affection a little. That probably boded well for them; at least Ron no longer took her for granted.

Harry watched Ginny settle into one of the golden chairs near the aisle. She adjusted the baby in her lap, fixed her hat (the baby had been playing with it) and looked up at Harry, grinning.

The baby.

Harry was still over the moon about him. He could not wait to put James on a toy broomstick, and play hide-and-seek with the invisibility cloak, and do all the things the Dursleys had never done with him. All the things that maybe his own parents had done with him, though there was no one alive now who could say for sure.

Harry was tired, too, of course – in a new-baby trance, hardly sleeping, barely able to recall what day of the week it was. But mostly, overwhelmingly, he was happy. What had once felt like scenes from someone else's life were now scenes from his own life: summer weekends lying in a hammock with an adorable pregnant wife and a pitcher of pumpkin juice. Whole years without anyone trying to murder him.

At twenty-five, Harry had outlived his parents. Sometimes he thought of them as younger than himself – frozen at twenty-one – kids, practically. A couple of kids staring down Voldemort with a baby in their arms. What must they have been like? He still did not know very much about them. He had heard stories, and seen photos, and there was that brief ten minutes with the resurrection stone, but that was not the same as _knowing_ someone.

There was so much he would never know. He had plumbed the depths of legends and fairy tales, and yet he didn't know what his own mother had liked for breakfast.

But he knew what Ginny liked, and he would know what baby James liked. And he knew Ron and Hermione best of all.

Ron met Harry's eyes again, and Harry shot him a reassuring smile.

At last, Hermione came up the aisle, beaming, as Harry knew she would. She and Ron exchanged vows - Ron joking, Hermione fighting back tears, Ron making a joke to comfort her, Hermione laughing and crying at the same time, Hagrid blowing his nose loudly, and half the wedding guests confused as to whether or not the whole thing was funny.

In the crowd, Harry spotted Luna Lovegood, in a bright orange dress with marigolds in her hair, with a mildly curious expression on her face.

Everything was right with the world.

* * *

Ginny ducked into the house to nurse the baby, leaving Harry alone for a moment. He looked around the tent and saw Ron chatting amicably with Hermione's parents. Hermione was answering an urgent owl from work, her quill flying.

"Hello, Harry," came an airy voice behind him.

Harry spun around to find Luna at a nearly-empty table. Teddy Lupin sat beside her, folding sheets of parchment into origami kneazles and knarls. Teddy was plainly smitten with Luna, in the way young children are sometimes smitten with a particular aunt or babysitter. She didn't seem to mind having him in tow.

"Hi, Luna," said Harry, sitting in a chair on Luna's other side. "Nice flowers. Sun colors again?"

"Oh, I hadn't thought of that," she said. "Parvati Patil had marigolds at her wedding, and I liked them. They enhance longevity and fertility."

Harry wondered whether the fertility was meant for Hermione and Ron or for Luna herself, but he didn't ask.

Teddy tapped Luna on the shoulder. "Done," Teddy said, holding up what appeared to be a hinkypunk made from folded parchment. "What next?" he asked.

"Try a demiguise," she said.

"I thought they were invisible," said Harry.

"I know what one looks like," said Teddy, who had already started folding a new sheet of parchment.

Harry smiled at his godson. Trust the son of a man who kept a grindylow in a tank to know what a demiguise looks like.

"Has he done a blibbering humdinger yet?" asked Harry, unable to help himself.

"Oh, no," Luna said. "The tentacles alone would take several hours."

A white-jacketed waiter sidled up to them and held out a platter of canapes. Harry took a few and put some aside for Ginny. Luna flicked her wand at the little origami animals and made them dance through the air.

"How are you?" Harry asked Luna.

"Oh. Rather lonely, without Daddy," she said serenely. "But then, they always come back when you need them, don't they?"

"Yeah, they do," he said, thinking of the resurrection stone. _We are part of you._

Victoire Weasley came up behind Teddy and tapped him on the arm. Harry watched Teddy follow her toward a group of younger Weasley cousins, who were chasing a flock of puffskeins on the grassy hill. There were a half dozen redheads, and one could easily make out Teddy's mop of blue hair among them.

"How are you and Neville getting on?" Harry asked Luna, examining the little paper hinkypunk.

"Very well. But I'm not seeing him anymore," she said matter-of-factly.

Harry nearly spat out his vol-au-vent in surprise. "I had no idea. I'm sorry," he spluttered.

"Don't be. I'm not. I still love him very much of course, as a friend, but I'm married to my work. Hannah is a better match for him."

"Hannah _Abbott_?"

"Yes. I suppose I could've meant Hannah Postlethwaite-Gidding, the famous troll bedazzler. But no, Hannah Abbott."

"Oh. He never said. That's – are you sure you're alright?" Harry felt tactless, asking a woman about her love life at a wedding. Hermione would definitely roll her eyes at him for that.

"I'm perfectly fine. I will miss some things. Neville is an excellent lover, for instance. And he does have an extensive cache of herbs and fungi. But on the whole, I think it's for the best."

"I really had no idea," he said apologetically.

Luna nodded. "I expect you're quite confuffled at the moment. You've got a very small person keeping you awake at night."

"Yeah. I have." Harry looked over at Ginny, who had re-emerged with James and was letting Mrs. Weasley hold him while she nibbled a well-deserved piece of cake. "I hope you get everything you want, Luna."

"I do have everything I want," she said. "You, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, your beautiful baby, Teddy, my work. What more would I desire? Other than wit beyond measure, and possibly another snorkack horn. They've stopped shedding their horns now that the breeding population is so low. I expect it's the jobberknolls encroaching on their habitat."

He smiled at her. She really was resilient.

"Do you want to dance, Luna?" he asked.

She beamed at him. "Yes, I'd love to dance with you, Harry. "

He took her hand and walked with her into the crowd of wizards and a few overwhelmed-looking Muggle relatives of Hermione's who were dancing in the middle of the tent.

"Oh, do you know the Luxembourg lurch?" asked Luna, smiling again.

"What? Oh. This is just how I dance, Luna," Harry said.

"Hmm. That's unfortunate. I had hoped someone would teach me. I've been collecting dance steps recently."

"Have you?" asked Harry, amused.

"Yes. I could teach you some, if you like."

"Fire away."

"Alright. I studied a sacred dance among the witches of Bora Bora which would be very appropriate for a wedding. But I haven't got any coconuts. Have you?"

"I haven't," said Harry.

His sleep deprivation was catching up with him, and so he only half-listened to her as she coached him through some truly bizarre steps and balletic arm movements. But he was happy to be around her. She'd had a point, earlier - that her friends were all she wanted.

What Harry had always wanted most, of course, was family. His first family taken away from him, he had fashioned a new one from friends. It had even started that very first day on the Hogwarts Express when he sat next to Ron. And now that Ron had married Hermione, and Harry had married Ginny, his friends _were_ his family now, quite literally.

Luna was family, too. Not by blood or marriage, but no less importantly.

He thought of those portraits Luna had painted in her tower bedroom, linked by fine golden letters, repeated over and over again. _Friends. Friends. Friends._

* * *


	6. Across the Moon (Luna and Lily)

The Scamander Wedding

* * *

The scene reminded her of MacBeth.

Five witches, in a round hut they had built that afternoon from thatched reeds and old quilts, crouched in a circle around a fire that smoked purple.

But Luna Lovegood had always found this custom very compelling. She'd tried it once among some North American wizards in the Nevada desert. Perspiring profusely, she felt purged and enervated, and she wondered why more British wizards had not discovered the pleasures of the sweat lodge. Perhaps they should be enlightened. Definitely worth an article in the Quibbler.

Thus, here she was, on her wedding night, sweating and sipping from a communal water jug with her four favorite witches in the world: Hermione, Ginny, Rose, and Lily. Luna's future husband, Rolf Scamander, was in a similar hut on the other side of the hill with all the men.

Hermione looked skeptical, as she often did, but Luna hoped she might get something out of the experience anyway. They had stripped to t-shirts and makeshift sarongs, even though it was autumn outside. Ginny looked like a Pre-Raphaelite goddess, her long red hair falling across her pale, damp shoulders. Luna thought motherhood had made her more beautiful, and more essentially Ginny-ish. Rose and Lily, fourteen and twelve, were throwing dried lavender and incense into the flames as they traded school gossip. They very much resembled their mothers.

Luna dumped more water on the hot hearth stones and it hissed, transforming into steam. She thought this might be the happiest she had felt in years.

"And the, ah, ceremony is at midnight?" asked Hermione, who was probably trying to be polite.

Luna nodded. "Yes. I think we should set off at quarter to twelve. That should give us plenty of time."

"Right. Okay," said Hermione, smoothing down her bushy hair, which Luna had always thought was very beautiful, and which had increased wonderfully in volume from the steam.

"I'm so glad all of you could be here," said Luna.

"Me, too," said Lily. "We never do anything like this at home."

"We had that bonfire last summer," offered Ginny.

"That," said Lily, "was nothing like _this_. This is bloody brilliant."

" _Lily_ ," Ginny chided.

"What? It _is_ ," said Lily.

"Thank you," said Luna, beaming.

If Luna had hesitated before, she was certain now. Yes, this was the night for it. This was just exactly the correct occasion. She reached into her rucksack and took out a parcel. Not much bigger than her hand, and wrapped in tea towels, its moment had arrived.

"Luna," Ginny began, "is that-"

"A horn," said Luna, nodding, "of a crumple-horned snorkack. They shed them in a breeding year. On the right day, you can gather up dozens. I've had this one for several years."

Hermione's eyes went round, and she shot an arm protectively in front of the two girls. "You're sure it's not an erumpent horn?" she asked.

"Quite sure," said Luna. "You can see for yourself."

She unwrapped the package and held it out to Hermione, who looked mollified, though still skeptical.

"Is it really?" asked Lily, leaning in close.

"Yes," said Luna. "They have many magical properties. Chief among them, though, is that the horn of the crumple-horned snorkack causes anyone who touches it to speak only the truths of their hearts."

"What, like Veritaserum?" asked Ginny.

"Not really," said Luna. "Veritaserum causes the drinker to answer truthfully any question when it is asked. The snorkack horn, on the other hand, will cause you to say only what you feel most strongly at any moment, and nothing less than the deepest truth of your being. Thus, it is very appropriate for a wedding. The uncertain bride cannot say her vows under the influence of the horn."

"Are you uncertain about Rolf, Luna?" asked Hermione.

"Hmm. I expect I'll find out in a moment," said Luna. "Would you all like to try it with me?"

"What, right now?" asked Rose.

Luna nodded. "Yes. The effects should last through the night. You don't have to, of course."

"Wicked," said Lily. "Can I have a go? Mum, can I?"

Ginny consented.

Luna held the horn out to Lily. "Together?"

"Together," said Lily, grinning. They touched the horn at the same time, and a little jolt of something like electricity seemed to pass through them. It was a little like touching a portkey. Their curiosity piqued, Rose and Ginny did the same, and finally Hermione tried it, and gave a little "oh" of surprise.

"Is that all?" asked Rose. "I don't think it's happened yet. Are you sure this thing works? By the way, I think I'm in love with -"

Rose stopped herself mid-sentence and clapped her hand over her mouth, eyes wide, cheeks blushing.

"Guess that answers that," said Lily, snickering. "Who is it, then? Who do you fancy?"

Rose shook her head emphatically, hand still clamped tight over her face.

"Oh, no," said Hermione. "You're so young."

"You were her age and snogging Viktor Krum," said Ginny.

"True," said Hermione, as if Ginny had just made a mildly interesting point in a reasoned debate.

"Mum!" exclaimed Rose and Lily in unison.

All four witches laughed. Luna smiled, watching them.

"I love each of you so very much," said Luna. "I have often thought, looking at you, that my heart might burst from affection."

"Aw, thanks, Lu," said Ginny. "Likewise."

Lily took another sip from the water jug and passed it to Luna. "Are you in love with Rolf?" Lily asked.

Luna closed her eyes. She could feel everyone in the tent looking at her. She let the bubbly feelings in her chest do the talking.

"Yes," Luna said finally. "I am. I can think of no one else I would rather marry."

Lily seemed satisfied. "Good," she said. "Want you to be happy. You're so...cool."

Ginny, Rose, and Hermione snickered at Lily.

For the next hour, the witches traded secrets and gossip and tales of old boyfriends. The purple smoke had a mildly soporific effect. Rose leaned her head on her mother's shoulder and fell asleep.

"Luna," asked Ginny after a long pause. "Does Rolf have one of these?"

"He does," answered Luna.

"Excellent. Got a couple of questions for George. And Perce. And Harry, too, come to think of it," said Ginny.

"What would Harry want to keep secret from you?" asked Hermione.

Ginny raised an eyebrow meaningfully.

"Ohhhh," said Hermione. "Yes, I think I'll ask Ron the same thing."

"Gross," said Lily, who could hardly mistake their tone, even if she didn't know exactly what they meant.

At a quarter to twelve, the five witches emerged from the hut into the chilly October night. They put on their sweaters and woolen cloaks and walked together into the center of an open field, holding lit wands and candles in front of them.

"This is so... pagan," said Ginny.

Hermione agreed and launched into a long anecdote about Druids from _Hogwarts, A History._

As they walked on, Rolf Scamander came into view, leading a similar procession of Weasley and Potter men and boys. Moonlight picked out the drops of water in their red and black hair. Teddy Lupin was there, too, his hair blond for the occasion.

"Dad!" exclaimed Lily, leaping into her father's arms. He caught her, slightly amused by her vivid display of affection. "Did you sweat?"

"I did," he said. "We all did."

"This is the weirdest thing we've ever done!" she exclaimed.

Luna could just make out his whisper of "I love you," into his daughter's ear, and her whispered reply. But they probably hadn't needed the horn for that.

Rolf took Luna's hands in his own. "Traditionally, a Scamander groom gives a whale tooth to the bride's father. Bill's agreed to act as surrogate."

Luna nodded. She met his eyes. "I'm certain about you," she said.

"As am I, about you," he agreed, pressing his forehead against hers.

There it was. In general, when it came to most things, Luna did not require certainty. But it was nice to know.

Together, Rolf and Luna flicked their wands at Luna's rucksack. Instantly, silk cords of every color emerged from the bag, twining around their right hands, linking them together – red, gold, green, purple. As they said their vows to each other, the cords transformed into a rainbow of moths and flew toward the moon.

Luna looked around at her adopted family. Weasleys, Potters, laughing teenagers, slightly giddy adults taking advantage of the horn's lingering effects. Her namesake, Lily Luna, held her hands out to the colored stream of moths as they flew over her head. Luna felt pleased. And just the tiniest bit wistful. She had stowed a picture of her parents under her robes, and she ran her fingers across its surface, thinking of them. They would have liked to be here in person. But they were definitely here anyway.

Vows complete, Rolf presented Bill Weasley with a whale tooth and explained the Scamander custom to Hugo, who was asking lots of questions. Much the best way to learn, Luna thought.

Finally, per Lovegood family tradition, the wedding guests chased the bride and groom off the property. Lily ran out in front, laughing and whooping, her brothers at her heels, her red hair flying behind her. When they reached the boundary, Lily grabbed Luna and hugged her.

"You'll come back, won't you?" Lily asked.

"Yes. I'll see you at sunrise," said Luna, climbing onto a broomstick with Rolf. "For the feast."

Lily nodded. By this time, the rest of the wedding guests had caught up, some of them out of breath from running.

"When I get married," said Lily loudly, "we are definitely doing this again."

Then the bride and groom rose into the air, their robes rippling around them in the breeze, and flew across the moon.

* * *


	7. Full Circle (Lily and Albus Severus)

The Dursley Wedding Again

* * *

Lily Potter took off her glittering, strappy shoes and eased her feet into the chilly hotel pool. Her Uncle Dudley had just married for the second time, and Lily had been surprised at how lovely the wedding was, even without magic. Lily also liked Nagumi, the pleasant Japanese woman Dudley had married, and she wondered how her uncle had pulled off such a coup.

Lily could hear faint music indicating that the reception was still going on inside the hotel ballroom. The full moon shone on the blue and white tiles of the outdoor pool, and the night was still, with only a few clouds blowing in from the sea. She was alone.

Lily gazed up at the stars, silently reviewing for her Astronomy OWL, mentally drawing constellations. A few gulls careened into her line of sight, riding invisible air currents. Lily would have liked to be up there on her broom right now, enjoying the night breeze. But her broom was at Hogwarts, along with the rest of her Quidditch things.

She sipped her champagne and adjusted her dress, bought at a high street shop for the occasion, since she didn't usually wear either dresses or Muggle clothes. She much preferred Quidditch robes or pajama bottoms, thank you very much.

She heard the clopping of leather shoes, and she looked up to see her brother Al, adjusting his wire-framed glasses as he spotted her and approached. She looked away pointedly, tossing her hair. She was still angry with him.

She kicked her feet, disturbing the smooth surface of the water, making ripples that reflected luminous, wavy lines onto the white facade of the hotel. She would have liked to send a hex at her brother, but she was sixteen, and couldn't do magic outside school.

"Dad was looking for you," said Al, standing behind her.

"And he sent you to hunt me down," Lily muttered, not looking at him.

"No. I came of my own free will," he said evenly.

"Well, you can tell him I'm fine. Stellar, in fact. That all?" she asked, unable to keep her irritation out of her voice.

He sighed.

She could hear shuffling, and, her curiosity getting the better of her, she turned around and saw him removing his shoes and rolling up his trousers. He took off his socks and balled them neatly (always neatly with him, always meticulous), and then sat next to her by the pool, dipping his pale feet into the water.

"You've got very long toes," he said to her.

"So what," she huffed.

"So nothing. I just never noticed before," he said.

She took another sip of her champagne and pretended to be very interested in the bubbles skittering up the inside of the glass.

"I'm sorry," he said, apropos of nothing.

"Piss off," she said.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I really am, Lil. It was a horrible thing to say."

She glared at him. "Yeah, it was," she said, noting, unhelpfully, that his eyes were exactly the same shade of green as her father's.

"I was being stupid. I don't really think you're-"

 _"Being unrealistic?"_ The words stung her again as she hurled them back at him.

"Yeah. I'm an idiot," he said, and he looked like he meant it. "Look, I know you want to play Quidditch when you leave school. You're good. Any team would be lucky to have you. It's _not_ unrealistic."

She snorted derisively.

"It's _not_ ," he said. "The point I was trying to make – failing to make, actually – is that you could do _anything_ you want. You're cleverer than you give yourself credit for. I think you'll get bored just catching snitches for your whole life."

He sighed and looked heavenward.

"Yeah, it was a stupid thing to say. Forgive me," he said.

She said nothing.

"How the hell did Uncle Dudley get that woman to marry him?" he asked abruptly.

Lily smiled a little despite herself. "No idea," she said.

"She's well out of his league. But they looked happy, so good for them, I suppose. Wonder if they'll stay in England or move back to Japan."

"I want to visit if they do."

"Yeah. Me too. Want a licorice snap?" he asked, taking a small box of them out of his pocket.

"No thanks," she said, grimacing.

"Didn't think so. Nobody likes these but me," he said. Lily wondered why he had bothered offering, if he knew that to be true. Al was a baffling person sometimes.

Lily set her glass down and asked, "Where's James?"

"Setting off dungbombs under Great Aunt Marge's chair," he said. "I don't think Dad really cares that much. He's just happy to be in a room full of people who don't know who he is, for once."

Above their heads, a gull called, and another one answered. Al chewed his licorice snap thoughtfully.

"Scorpius asked me to fix you up again. Poor fool fancies you," he said.

She scoffed. "And what did you tell him?"

"I told him he's my best mate, but if he asks me one more time, I'll curse him into the next century."

She smiled and kicked her feet again, splashing cold water onto her brother's trousers.

"Al," she said, meeting his eyes. "You know I like girls, right?"

"Yeah. I do know," he said softly.

"Did you tell Malfoy that?" she asked.

"No. Do you want me to?"

"I don't know."

"I will say or not say whatever you want me to say. Or not say."

"Sweet of you," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I'm serious, Lil. You're my sister. I love you. If anything ever happened to you, if anyone – boy or girl – ever crossed you, I'd pull a Longbottom and start slicing heads off with the Sword of Gryffindor."

"I think it was only one head. But thanks," she said. "I guess."

Lily floundered in this rare moment of detente. She wasn't used to getting along with Al, at least not since they were much younger. Perhaps because they were too close in age, or perhaps because they were so different. She, earthy and mouthy and (admittedly) impulsive, and he, fastidious and studious and calm. He liked _arithmancy_ , for Merlin's sake. And _potions_.

"Would we be friends? If we weren't related?" she asked.

"I would hope so," he said, studying the ripples ricocheting off the wall of the pool. "What do you think?"

"I dunno. It's weird, though, isn't it? That I'm named for Dad's Mum, and you're named for her ex-boyfriend. Maybe that's why we've never gotten on."

He wrinkled his nose, disbelieving, but amused. "I don't think Professor Snape was ever anyone's boyfriend."

"I wouldn't be so sure," she said. "That portrait of him said some intriguing things to James. He told me about it."

Al laughed. "He's having you on."

Lily crossed her arms, both from the cold creeping up her body and the realization that of course, _of course_ James was having her on. The git. If Al was the rock, James was the hard place.

Inside, the music changed – some pop song Lily thought she recognized – and she could hear muffled whooping and dozens of people getting to their feet all at once. She pictured her father dancing along and had to laugh. Savior of the wizarding world he might be, but he was also an atrocious dancer.

"So," she said. "They're all married now. Luna, Dudley, and next summer, Teddy."

"Yes. They are," he said, raising one eyebrow curiously.

"My point is, it's our turn now. It'll be James next," she said.

His eyes went wide. "Merlin, can you imagine someone marrying him? They'll need riot gear and a iron stomach. And a couple of Aurors on private detail. Dad could lend them some."

"He'll probably have to," she giggled.

He seemed pleased that he'd made her laugh. Then, suddenly, he jumped into the pool, fully dressed, splashing her with chilly water.

"Oy!" she said. "Watch it."

He shook his head and treaded water like a seal. A bespectacled seal.

Not to be outdone, especially by someone so _indoorsy_ as Albus Severus Potter, she jumped in after him.

"Oh FUCK! Oh fucking FUCK it is fucking COLD!" she howled.

He laughed and dove under the water.

She shrieked as he grabbed her ankle, and she chased him across the pool. His glasses were streaming with water, useless. She took advantage of his temporary blindness and ambushed him from behind, splashing him over and over. He spun around, looking very silly in his soggy tie.

"You're rubbish at hand-to-hand combat," she said, aiming another splash at him.

"And you," he countered mischievously, "are not allowed to use magic outside school."

"Which would be a disadvantage to me, if you could get hold of your wand," she said, grabbing the wand out of his pocket and swimming away.

He caught up with her and hauled her back by the arms, laughing and shrieking.

"Tosser," she said, giggling.

"Midget."

"Prat."

After a while, they tired of this game and floated on their backs, looking up at the stars. Her hair swirled and tangled like seaweed in the glowing turquoise water. She felt adrift, weightless.

However, the cold water was giving her a headache.

Evidently he felt the same way, because he stood up and said, "Come back inside and get warm. I'll do you a drying charm."

"Alright," she said.

He was as good as his word. It was a well-executed drying charm, too – not too much static cling on her clothes after.

She met his eyes as he dried himself, fussing with his messy black hair. So tall. So like Dad. And such a _nerd_.

Quickly, stealthily, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

"Tell anyone I did that, and I'll hex you," she said.

"Wouldn't dare," he said, smirking.

She punched him in the shoulder for good measure. "I do love you, you arse," she said.

"Yeah. I know," he said, rubbing the spot where she'd hit him and rolling his eyes.

Like their namesakes, Lily and Albus Severus did not love each other perfectly. There were errors and arguments, and faults on both sides. Whether it would end in tragedy this go-round remained to be seen.

Together they walked into the bright hall, into the chattering crowd, and into whatever the future held for them.

* * *


End file.
